


A Resolution

by TheDoctorIsIcecube



Series: MCU Spiderman Origin (feat. Autistic Peter Parker) [3]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Peter, Gen, Grief, Optimistic Ending, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDoctorIsIcecube/pseuds/TheDoctorIsIcecube
Summary: Peter has never felt so sick and lost in his life. Uncle Ben is gone and he feels like it's his fault.





	A Resolution

“Hey Peter, how was your weekend?” He flinched away from the too-loud sound he just hadn’t been expecting. Ned. Don’t worry, it’s just Ned. He didn’t need to be worried but in that moment he was and now he was overthinking it all again.

“Pretty shit,” he admitted. That didn’t even cover it, but he didn’t want to go round announcing it. He didn’t want anyone at school to know what had happened, it would just make things worse.

“Oh. Why? Do you wanna hang out after school? Maybe watch Star Wars again.” At least Ned was trying, but Peter really wasn’t sure that six hours of lightsabers and mediocre special effects was going to make him feel any better. When he thought about it, flashing lights. Not good.

“Family stuff, so I have to be at home,” he said. That was the response he’d spent loads of time thinking about. Ben and May had a bit of an argument with him about something to do with his parents and things were still a bit tense so he had to stay at home. It was a good excuse, but he didn’t feel right lying about it.

“Oh. Alright. Maybe Star Wars at the weekend then? It’s been ages since we watched the films together.” Peter just nodded vaguely, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie. Ned seemed to get the message that this conversation wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll, uh, see you in math.”

“See ya’,” he managed. He felt sick and overstretched already. He knew he couldn’t be fine, he’d be more worried if he was fine, honestly, but he didn’t want to deal with school. He just didn’t see how he could stay at home and do nothing, and he didn’t want to miss any school either. People would worry, and he didn’t want that at all. Maybe they should be worrying after what had happened to him, but he still didn't want the fuss. Peter sighed, keeping his head down as he walked to his locker in the hopes that no one would want to talk to him.

When he got to his locker, he saw someone had drawn on it again. Lovely. It was very mature when people drew pictures of dicks on his locker, and it doubled as a taunt and a reminder. He sighed, looking at it for a moment, and then he opted to ignore it. He could just cover them up with post-it notes and pretend it hadn’t happened. Because he really didn’t want to think about this kind of thing at the moment. There were other things on his mind, weighing heavy in his chest and his stomach, a constant ache. His fault. He’d failed to stop something terrible, and someone was dead. Someone important. 

Him and Uncle Ben hadn’t always had a smooth relationship. He wasn’t quite the son he’d always wanted, nor was he the child he’d expected when he took his nephew in nearly a decade ago. He really, really regretted that now. He regretted the tension that was still standing between them and what...what happened after that. But it was far too late for regrets now. Peter didn't believe in ghosts, so there was no chance that he would be speaking to Uncle Ben any time soon. He was gone, and Peter was going to have to live with that fact forever now.

After he got his books for the day, carefully making sure he didn’t accidentally put too much pressure on the door and slam it again like he did on Friday, he went to his first class. He hated history. Like, a lot. It was boring and anyone with any inclination to do any extra study knew that half of it was so skewed it was barely the truth anymore. And it wasn’t any fun anymore because Michelle was taking the advanced option so she couldn’t point out how false it was.

He sat at the back of the class, hating how his new sensitive hearing meant that it was nigh on impossible to tune out what the teacher was saying. No more daydreaming or doodling in history class- he had no choice but to pay attention, and that meant he may as well take notes. He was getting slightly faster at that, but not a lot. Not enough to make all of this worth it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Uncle Ben. Even though he couldn’t tune out the teacher, every time she stopped speaking his mind would drift back to that sudden feeling of dread in his stomach that replaced the anticipation he normally felt when he had the chance to stop a crime. Dread, because it was too late. And fear, and guilt, and shame. So much shame.

It felt almost like there was no point in his usual crime fighting activities- like they were dangerous now. And really, they were. He had proven that to himself with Uncle Ben. Who knew who was next to be hurt? Aunt May? Ned? Anyone he loved could be in danger and it wasn’t like he could save people. He’d proven that, too.

Nothing felt real. It seemed strange, because in movies after people died the music always went muted and they moved slowly because of grief and the whole thing became unreal. He’d never thought it would be like that, but it was true. He felt detached and wrong. He felt small. He felt like nothing could ever be okay ever again because Uncle Ben was gone, but it didn’t feel like he was. He kept expecting another text from him reminding him where he’d hidden the spare key or asking if he needed any food.

His phone buzzed near the end of history and he almost thought it was Uncle Ben, but it was just Ned. Asking about Star Wars. Again. Peter understood that he was just trying to help, but it wasn’t. All he wanted was to be alone.

‘Sorry mate, I’ll tell you about it when I’m ready. It’s complicated and I don’t want lots of ppl knowing about it’ That wasn’t a dick response, right? He didn’t want to seem like a dick.

‘It’s ok dude, just wanna know what’s going on in case I can help’ He really couldn’t help. Peter was sure that Ned would help if he could, but he really couldn’t. He couldn’t think of anything that would help except Uncle Ben being back. And that just wasn’t going to happen.

He sighed, slumping down so that his head hit the desk. It hurt, but at least the pain was mildly distracting for a few seconds. Anything was better than thinking about Uncle Ben. Anything. He’d sit through a hundred hours of history if it meant he got to forget for a bit.

The lesson dragged. He could barely pay attention and every time they were meant to complete a task he just sat there, unable to work. When his eyes drifted over the page he couldn’t even read the words. Once, he almost started crying and his vision went very blurry before he managed to stop himself. He couldn’t cry during class.

“Peter, could I speak to you for a moment?” The whole class let out a hiss before a soft ‘ooooh’ sounded. He nearly cried all over again. He didn’t want this. He knew he hadn’t been concentrating but he didn’t want to tell anyone why.

“Uh, fine,” he said nervously. Everyone else stood up to leave, and he ignored the few mumbled comments of ‘penis parker’ as people walked past him. He just sat at his desk, looking down at his hands and waiting for the teacher to speak.

“Is everything okay, Peter?” The teacher sounded concerned and he didn’t want to disappoint her but he really couldn’t say what was wrong. “You seem a little overwhelmed lately and if there’s anything I can do to make lessons a little easier- within reason, I mean.”

“It’s- family stuff,” he managed, hoping his voice hadn’t cracked too much. “Stuff going on at home. I don’t really want to talk about it? I’m sorry.”

“I see.” The teacher backed off a little, her arms folded. “You do know that I am here for you to talk to, no matter what the issue is. The school also has a counsellor…”

“Fine. I know. I know that. I- please, can I just go?” His throat was starting to feel painful and trapped and he didn’t want to be here anymore. This was exactly why he didn’t want any of his teachers knowing what was going on because it would be even worse then.

“You can go,” she said. She sounded sort of annoyed, but as usual he couldn’t read her face. Teachers were so cryptic. “Just remember what I told you, okay? Don’t be late for your next class.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Peter snatched up his bag and stood up, hurrying out of the classroom. He considered going to class, but he wasn’t sure that he could face it whilst he was in this state. Going to shut himself in the toilets for the next hour seemed like a much better plan.

It wasn’t like him to skip lessons, but he really couldn’t even think about John Steinbeck when there were so many more important things going on. He could miss attendance in one lesson, he was so quiet in American Lit that he could just tell someone that it was a mistake if they asked, and they’d believe him if he went to Math later.

The toilets were as quiet as ever, despite the unpleasantly lingering smell of piss. No one else was in the stalls, so Peter shut himself in one of them and sat down on the toilet lid, clutching his bag to his chest. He just needed a minute. Or half an hour, honestly.

Math. Oh, god, why hadn’t he remembered before? His Math homework was in the bag he took out with him when he went to chill outside. The bag he hadn’t touched since he made it home on Saturday night. Because he couldn’t bear to look at it, to remember his damn stupidity. He should have been braver, more attentive, more anything. And because he hadn’t done his homework, he probably couldn’t go to the lesson. He gritted his teeth, burying his face in his hands. All of this was a mess, and it was just turning into an even bigger mess with every passing hour. It was awful, and this was awful, it was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to him.

He had to go to American Lit. He could borrow someone’s textbook or answers, because even if they hated him they hated the establishment more. He had to go to both lessons now, his stupid mistakes had forced his hand and he was going to be late but he couldn’t bring himself to care (he was lying, because the amount he cared was rising with every second).

Peter forced himself to stand up, snatching a handful of toilet paper and using it to wipe his eyes and blow his runny nose. No use crying in high school. No one cared, and they especially didn't care that he was the one doing the crying. It would only make the teachers worry more and his voice sound weirder.

He made his way to the lesson, fully prepared with an excuse of ‘Mrs Hayen wanted to speak to me after class’, but when he walked in he could barely manage more than a ‘sorry sir’. He had forgotten how damning the eyes of so many people could be when you were just late for a lesson. Thankfully, his Lit teacher seemed to care far less than the other students in the room. 

Peter sat himself down, taking his book out of his bag and glancing around at the others in the room. He’d sat next to some mildly friendly people, so perhaps they could be convinced to share notes. As soon as they were set a task, he turned to someone next to him and asked if they had the homework or at least the textbook for Math. They looked at him strangely, but handed him the answers without a word.

Disaster averted, for now, and he even managed to push himself to attend the lesson.

-

Peter didn't want to go home after school. Facing Aunt May seemed to get harder every time. He knew that Uncle Ben’s death was his fault, and perhaps she did too, just a little. She didn’t know that for certain, but she knew he’d been there. He was there when she wasn’t there. Even if she told him that it wasn’t his fault (she did. Regularly.) she probably blamed him a little bit because that’s what people did.

He made sure his backpack was properly zipped up and then slipped away into a side alley, wondering if it was safe to do a little bit of climbing. It was the only thing that had come from the spider bite that he still felt happy doing. Even after what had happened, being up high was relaxing. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. And he seemed to be a whole lot better at climbing now, which was...strange, but nice.

Peter made his way quickly up a long drainpipe, hopping up from there to a low rooftop and from there to a higher one. He could scale the whole city like this, sit and watch the cars and people go by. Up here, the world felt much smaller and he felt like he was actually a size that could deal with it. Down on the ground with everyone else, he felt crushed with expectations.

He felt like such a failure and he knew that meant he had to get better. That was the only way to see it; he hadn’t been fast enough to save Uncle Ben. Next time, he would have to be. 

Perhaps… Peter looked at his hand, frowning slightly. He could use this spider bite to his advantage. Extra strength and an uncanny ability to climb seemed like a pretty good set of superhero traits to him. He could be…Spider Boy. No, Spider Man. That sounded less silly. Slightly. He’d already been thinking about doing it, because he knew something had changed, but making it official?

He could do that. And maybe, possibly, if he did something like that, he could save people so how he felt never happened to anyone ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this is the last fic in this series! If we think of anything else it'll go in here, but otherwise this is it.


End file.
